


Good Night and Joy Be With You All

by queenofchildren



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Grief, In-Canon, Memories, Renewal, Starting A Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: Their first Christmas as a married couple is a quiet one: Just Rosaline, Benvolio, Livia, and a lot of empty chairs. But happiness can be found even on the darkest days of the year - and by the time their second Christmas comes around, the house is not quite as empty anymore, nor the evening as quiet.Written for the Rosvolio Christmas Miracle, a prompt challenge on tumblr. I imagined it as a follow-up to "Maybe It's All Gone Black", but it can be read indepentendly.





	Good Night and Joy Be With You All

**Author's Note:**

> This will be super fluffy but also contain quite a bit of angst (going very “empty chairs at empty tables” at times). The title is from “The Parting Glass” - I wanted to use a Christmas song, but I couldn't find one that entirely hit the mood I was going for. If you want to listen to it, it's a traditional song but I love the version by The Wailing Jennys.  
> Also, I did not have the time to do any research on Italian Christmas traditions in the Renaissance period.

Their first Christmas is a quiet one.

Rosaline and Benvolio have been married for only a few months, and have not quite finished restoring her family's childhood home yet. Several of the rooms are still uninhabitable, and the house's exterior is still far from showing its former splendour. But they have finished a small bedroom and a comfortable dining-room and a working kitchen, and Benvolio has managed to talk (or bribe) the workers into finishing the second bedroom just in time for Livia's arrival from the convent. Rosaline has spent hours weaving festive wreaths and garlands to put up around their house, and Benvolio whittled the most precious little figurines for a manger they've set up above the fireplace. They're not exactly equipped to throw a grand reception, but they will not let that stop them from celebrating the holiday together.

In any case, neither of them is in the mood for grand receptions – they still remember being dragged onto a stage before all of Verona to be paraded around as a symbol of Escalus' unification politics, while the citizens of Verona did not care particularly whether they'd be watching a wedding or an execution. Neither of them has any desire for a repeat of that experience. Like their wedding, all their other celebrations are quiet and private, and they only venture out into the public sphere when business or courtesy demand it. Their days of being symbols are over, and they don't owe anybody anything anymore. They live for themselves now – although she thinks that someday in the near or far future, they might want to have someone else to live for.

For now, having severed all ties to their former guardians, their little family consists of the two of them and Livia – and, more often than not, of the ghosts of those they'll miss most dearly this Christmas.

It takes daily effort to find a balance between keeping the memory of their dead loves ones alive and letting their grief overwhelm them, and during these days of contemplation and family reunions in particular, Juliet, Romeo and Mercutio are never far from their minds. But just like they've done before, they tackle their grief by telling each other stories of their lost family and friends – and considering how lively they were, there are stories aplenty to tell. They're not quite enough to keep the darkness at bay entirely. But on nights where dark thoughts won't quite let themselves be chased away, there's always huddling together and holding on to each other, tight enough to remind themselves that they're still alive, still safe, and that they still have each other.

And of course, even the darkest time of the year has its bright spots. There's decorating the house together, which begins with high ambitions and ends with both of them sprawled out in a pile on the floor, laughing their heads off while trying to get disentangled from her garlands. There's deciding what to have for their Christmas dinner, which is complicated by the fact that they both had different traditions in their family and both insist on sticking with theirs. The discussion takes up several days, and only ends when Benvolio decides they'll have both the fish and the meat dish, which is how they end up with a gigantic Christmas feast – and a new tradition of their own. There's the morning Benvolio asks her for advice on what gift to give Livia, and Rosaline, who had not even considered that that might be something he ought to do, simply melts with how much she loves him for not only thinking of her happiness but of her sister's as well.

These are the sweetest moments of all: Moments where Benvolio does something so unexpected and considerate, she can barely believe her own luck in finding him. Evenings where they're sitting together in their house, peacefully whiling away the hours with no one to disturb them and she feels a calm she did not expect to enjoy again. Nights that are equal parts sweetness and rush; fumbling touches followed by lingering kisses, because she still cannot get enough of the pleasure her husband evokes in her but she finds it just as blissful to simply know him asleep by her side.

Things are not perfect – Rosaline still wakes up from nightmares of Juliet's lifeless body, and Benvolio still avoids walking across the marketplace, as if the stage that was supposed to be the scene of his death and the crowd calling for his head were still there, waiting to snatch him back.

But things are good, most days, and that is enough for now.

***

 

Livia arrives early on Christmas Eve, just in time to help Rosaline finish wrapping the presents for the small number of servants in their employ and tease her about her inability to bake a proper Christmas fruit-loaf, the traditional kind their mother used to make, and Rosaline is beyond relieved to see her sister so cheerful. They write regularly, and Rosaline makes time to visit her sister at the hospice where she's apprenticing with the nuns whenever she can. But the nuns disapprove of frequent social calls or lengthy correspondence, and Rosaline hasn't had her sister to herself for this long in a long time – and the fact that Livia is allowed to stay with them for several days this time is only due to a generous donation of Montague money to the convent's coffers.

Benvolio leaves them to their gossip and only arrives late in the afternoon, back from last-minute errands with his hair wet from the sleety rain. There's a hard edge to his mouth, and together with the gigantic basket full of seasonal delicacies he's holding, it does not take Rosaline long to pierce together who he ran into.

“My uncle sends his best.“

He tries to say it lightly, to appear unaffected, but his grip on the handle of the basket is white-knuckle tight, and she knows how difficult it still is for Benvolio to be confronted with his uncle, and reminded of what the Montague patriarch stole from him in his quest for power. Rosaline reaches out to close her hands around his, squeezing for a moment before prying his fingers off the handle.

“Livia can take it along to the convent, to be given to the poor.“

Finally, his iron grip loosens, and Benvolio hands over the basket. He is rewarded with a kiss, lingering just long enough to make the tension leave his body. It directly breaks the rule she set for the holidays just this morning, a stern admonishment for Benvolio not to be overly affectionate so as not to upset her sister's still-healing heart – but Livia is nowhere near, and Benvolio needs cheering up. (And, if Rosaline is completely honest, she 's begun to miss him after being separated all day, silly as it may seem.)

Still, enough canoodling – they have a Christmas dinner to celebrate.

“Now come on in – we're done baking, and as soon as you are out of those wet clothes, we'll have dinner.“

“Not what I hoped your plans would be, once you had me out of my clothes.“

Rosaline rolls her eyes, but secretly, she's glad to hear him joke again.

“We are celebrating a holy day, you heathen. I meant merely to say that you should change into something more festive. We do have a visitor after all.“

She only manages to keep up the stern voice for a moment before she leans in closer to whisper:

“But do not fret – I do have those kinds of plans as well.“

Then she sashays off towards the kitchen, a little extra sway to her hips that she knows will make him stare after her until she's well out of sight. She can exactly imagine the expression on his face when he does, and though she refrains from turning back to look, the thought sends a little thrill through her. Clearly, Benvolio is not the only one who needs to be reminded to have some decorum.

Luckily, last-minute preparations for the feast distract her quite thoroughly, and then it's time to say goodbye to the staff, who leave for the holidays to visit their families once, at Rosaline and Benvolio's insistence. And suddenly it is only the three of them left in the house, sitting before their Christmas feast and trying not to notice how quiet the house is, how many chairs at the table are empty.

“Well,“ Benvolio eventually says and clears his throat, “I think we should eat, lest the food gets cold.“

Rosaline and Livia murmur their assent, and they all turn quietly towards their food. It is Livia who breaks the silence with some polite question about their recent pursuits, and Benvolio gives her an overview of the trading he's been involved in and the meetings he's attended.

With the silence once broken, and their attention on the food before them and on the various concerns each of them reports in turn, it becomes easier to forget how very strange this Christmas is, how much of it is wrong. Easier to laugh, and to move on from stories taking place entirely in the present (their new, strange present) to those with ties to the past, which is still a dangerous realm they only venture into very carefully. But tonight, with their tongues loosened by alcohol and their minds slow with food and warmth, they turn their gazes to the past, to the very people whose absence is impossible to ignore, no matter how much they try.

It is Livia who first openly mentions them, tackling the topic with a bravery Rosaline herself has not quite mustered yet. She looks around the room bemusedly – a room saturated with memories of Capulet Christmases – and smiles.

“Remember that year we hosted a Christmas dinner here and Juliet insisted on running around the table until she got caught in the tablecloth?“

Of course Rosaline remembers – that perticular Christmas has been entered into the annals of Capulet Christmases as one that ended in complete, unequivocal disaster

“She brought the whole table down – plates, glasses, candles and an entire roast goose!”

Rosaline laughs as the memory fully unfolds before her eyes, and Livia joins.

"Mother was so mad, she wanted to give her a beating on the spot. Poor Juliet's bottom was only spared due to her mother's interference.”

“And even then, Mother remained angry at her for the next two months. If I recall, it took a hand-stitched apology for her to be forgiven.”

Another round of chuckles, a vivid memory of Juliet's clumsily stitched apology-handkerchief – laboured over with tears and more than a few needle-pricked drops of blood. But gradually, as their laughter fades, that emptiness theatens to sneak in again as they remember that none of the protagonists of their story are in their lives anymore; none will ever celebrate a Christmas in that room again – some of them dead, some banished from their affection.

But before grief can taint yet another fond memory, Benvolio speaks up.

“Romeo once set the Christmas tree ablaze.”

Two Capulet heads turn towards him at once, mouths open in horror.

“He had some help from the cat, but mostly, it was his doing....”

And he launches into a story of that event, one as much the stuff of legends as Juliet's fight with the table cloth, that leaves them both in tears – tears of laughter, this time, and not of sadness.

After that, sharing more such stories becomes easier and easier, and the house is soon ringing with their laughter. By the time they run out of stories, the feast piled on the table has dwindled away. But there is no time for their spirits to sink again, for Benvolio brings out some port wine for a toast and puts another log on the fire and Livia suggests they sing some carols, and the combination of wine and singing soon ushers in more laughter.

They enthusiastically make their way through the most popular carols and then launch straight into a discussion on which kinds of songs are better suited to the occasion: somber, melancholy ones, or energetic, jubilant melodies. Livia argues in favour of the former, Rosaline prefers the latter, and Benvolio wisely stays out of the discussion entirely.

Rosaline wins the discussion only because Livia's arguments become increasingly hard to hear over her drawn-out yawns, and Rosaline terminates the debate to send her sister off to bed, ignoring her offer to help clean up the table.

Benvolio helps instead, carrying plates and glasses down to the kitchen in accordance with her orders. They'll be lazy and do the actual washing-up tomorrow, they decide, and Rosaline only sneaks back into the dining-room to get one of the candles off the table for their nightstand – somehow, taking the light that shone on their happy evening feels like a good omen, like it might guide them through a happy night and into more happy Christmas days.

She's just done placing it in a brass holder when Benvolio approaches, finished with his task of putting a fresh log on the fire. Slinging his arms around her waist, he pulls her close.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight? I know 'twas not much – perhaps we could invite more people next year...”

Rosaline turns around in his embrace to lay a fingertip over his mouth, effectively silencing him.

“It was perfect. I had everyone I love right here with me.” Benvolio's face lights up, the way it always does when she tells him she loves him, and it is this that prompts her next words: The sudden realisation that he makes her feel so full of love, she is sure it would be enough for even more people. “But perhaps our family might grow, in time. Our Christmases will be even more joyful then – after all, what better sight to see on Christmas than a child's excited face?”

Benvolio's eyes widen when he understands what she's alluding to.

“Are you...?”

She quickly shakes her head – it won't do to instill false hope in him, no matter the promises she'd like to make.

“Not yet. But I've begun to pray for it.”

It may not seeem like much, she knows – it certainly won't change anything, for they are not exactly taking care to prevent a pregnancy now. But it _feels_ like it makes a difference, like she is actively _deciding_ that she wants to have a family with him, rather than it being a side-effect of their marriage – and Benvolio, she knows from the way he looks at her, understands that difference very well: It's the same as the difference between entering an engagement ordered by the Prince and their uncles just to help her sister, and deciding, _together_ , to get married when that idea has long been abandoned by anyone else.

“A good thing to pray for,” Benvolio replies, and Rosaline feels a weight of nervousness lift that she hadn't even noticed when it settled – a fear perhaps that, even though he must have been aware that they've been taking their chances throughout their marriage, Benvolio would not be open to the idea of becoming a father yet. It's good to hear that he is at the very least not opposed to it.

“And a good thing to wish for on Christmas,” Rosaline smiles, leaning in for a kiss because that relief has to go somewhere, and already her momentary fear is being pushed aside to make room once more for that achingly sweet love she feels for him, even months into their marriage and perhaps a little more each day.

Benvolio certainly doesn't seem to mind, leaning into the kiss with the ease and practice of a thousand kisses shared throughout their marriage – and the same enthusiasm that marked their first. That enthusiasm only grows when she leans forward into his embrace, her hands sliding up his chest to play with the collar of his shirt. Benvolio in turn lets his hands roam down her sides to grasp her hips and pull her close – a familiar path, and yet it sends a thrill throughout her.

But already, Benvolio breaks the kiss to pull back and look at her.

“You are wearing a new dress tonight.”

“So you _have_ noticed – I was afraid you'd stopped paying attention to me when you did not point it out right away.”

“Oh, I've noticed – I just did not want to remark upon it before, for the things I have to say about it... well, let's just say your sister would not have appreciated hearing them.”

Having made that admission, he presses a kiss to the side of her neck that leaves no doubt as to what, exactly, her sister would not have appreciated about his comments on her dress. But of course, Rosaline herself still very much wants to hear them.

“And what exactly do you have to say about it?”

“Well, for one thing, I would have praised its excellent cut – made to show off a masterpiece no sculptor could recreate in its glory.”

His hands start roaming again, following the lines he's just been praising as a masterpiece. The lines of _her_ body – a compliment so outrageous it would make her laugh, if it weren't for the look of adoration on his face, the heat in his eyes when he meets her gaze.

“Then I would have pointed out how miraculously soft the material is – though not near as soft as your skin.”

His lips continue their trail along that same skin, on a quest to find its softest spots – and to make her knees go weak in the process.

“But the first thing I noticed was how wonderfully the colour suited you – enough to make you outshine the brightest of holiday lights.”

“I see you're still a hopeless flatterer.”

“Only where the flattery is deserved.”

“I don't think it deserves to be flattered quite so outrageously. You'll turn me vain and prideful.”

“As long as you continue to be outrageously beautiful, I shall continue to find outrageous words to point it out.”

“I won't be beautiful forever, you know.”

“You will be to me. Because your beauty is in your eyes, and your smile, and the fact that I know how brave and strong and compassionate you are. And those things are impervious to age, are they not?”

“Well, I'm not sure how well my eyes and my smile will hold up once I'm blind and toothless...”

“Will you stop being so difficult, woman? I am _trying_ to seduce you!”

Rosaline actually giggles at that – a sound so girlish and silly, she'd be embarrassed if it weren't for the smile it lights up on his face.

“If that is your aim, maybe you should spend a little less time talking.”

She says it teasingly and Benvolio smiles in return – but even as he does, his eyes go darker, and Rosaline's insides tighten with anticipation. He was not jesting about his intentions – and now he follows her advice and sees them through, to great effect. Despite his earlier compliments for her dress, Benvolio has no qualms about divesting her of it, and soon the garment lies forgotten on the floor while he pulls her over to the bed.

***

 

By the time the bells ring in Christmas at midnight, Rosaline is happily ensconced in her sleeping husband's arm, skin against heated skin, and saying a prayer as she presses a tender kiss to the hand holding her to his chest – the same prayer she admitted to earlier: _Please, Lord, bless us with a child._ The prayer is followed, as always, by a solemn promise: That this child will never know hatred and desperation and grief, nor be used as a tool in their families' schemes. This child will be theirs, and theirs alone – and when it grows up, it will be allowed to be its own person, make its own decisions.

And though she will never know if it was due to this particular night or any of the many similarly happy ones that followed it, her prayer is answered soon after: Their second Christmas sees them with another family member at the table – one too young to participate in the feast the cook has prepared, or to appreciate the expensive wine Benvolio bought just for the occasion, but who nonetheless becomes the center of the evening's festivities. Bouncing on her aunt's lap, little Julia gurgles along with their Christmas carolling, stares wide-eyed at the glass baubles Benvolio brought from a recent trip to Venice, and smiles happily in response to their combined cooing.

Looking from Livia's easy smile to Benvolio's relaxed stance to her chubby-cheeked daughter, entirely ignorant of the miracle she represents, Rosaline feels suddenly awed by the scene, simple and common though it may be: A healthy little family, joyfully celebrating Christmas together – when just a year ago, they were three lost souls only just beginning to learn how to be happy again.

Now, she knows they have come far in that endeavour – and will come ever further in the future, she is sure of it.

Later, after she has bid her sister goodnight and laid her daughter down to sleep in her crib, Rosaline climbs into bed beside her husband and listens as the bells of the Duomo ring in their second Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, my love,“ Benvolio says, low so as not to wake their sleeping daughter, and Rosaline leans forward to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas.“

  



End file.
